


a passing serenity

by ElasticElla



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Minor Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Post-Episode: s01e09 Rise Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 17:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6204847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magnus knows he should go home. Instead, he makes a portal to Canada, to a safe house he'd given Camille ages ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a passing serenity

**Author's Note:**

> for [this](http://ladygawain.livejournal.com/83265.html?thread=947009#t947009) prompt: _creatures who were meant to carry on_

Magnus knows he should go home. He's already drank the entire menu of Pandemonium's special cocktails and kissed a dozen or so tall dark haired people. Instead, he makes a portal to Canada, to a safe house he'd given Camille ages ago. 

He doesn't bother knocking, portals weren't exactly discrete and he finds her in the living room. Camille must have sensed him quickly, already has a bottle of his favorite port in one hand and doubtless O-negative in the other, a pair of glasses clinking on the coffee table. 

“Oh darling,” Camille purrs, taking him in, “he hurt you bad didn't he?”

Magnus shrugs, sinking on the couch, pouring and sipping. “He's getting married.” 

Camille's smile is a soft poison, and he finds himself wanting to spill everything to her. Wanting her to fix him like she used to, to make all the pain of living go away like magic. He misses their non-temporal bubble of domestic bliss. 

The second time around, he pours himself a taller glass. It doesn't matter beyond taste, it's always been for show- his tolerance is fairly ridiculous. “I deserved it, I should have known better than to really go after a Lightwood.” 

Camille tsks, settling down onto the couch beside him. “You'll carry on, you always do.”

Magnus lets out a bitter laugh, “That wasn't a hint of jealousy I detected, now was it?”

“No,” Camille says lightly. “Though I'm happy to wind back a few centuries if you wish to. You've always been one of my favorites.”

Magnus sucks in a breath, deliberating. His memories aren't the sharpest- he's always valued pure knowledge first, that which could keep him alive. He remembers having fun with her, remembers making love so often it turned formulaic yet never got boring. He remembers bringing her to the night theaters often, and learning all the constellations. And he can still recall the sharpness of her teeth breaking his skin, the cool press and suction of her lips. 

“Why didn't we ever get married?” Magnus suddenly asks. 

Camille tilts her head, “I always thought you liked the romance of choosing to stay every day.” 

It's not true, but Magnus can't remember why right now- or perhaps he doesn't want to. “And you?” 

Camille laughs quietly, “I don't play well with absolutes or institutions, you knew that.” 

Magnus sighs, reconsidering her earlier words. It's tempting to just slip back into what they were, how happy he was. “I don't think I would ever come back to the present,” he admits. "I can't afford that, not with Valentine back." 

Camille cradles his face, sincere sadness dripping into her tone, “Just one night, and I'll send you back to New York.” 

“Okay,” Magnus breathes- because he knows no matter how much he'll want or try to stay, Camille will kick him out come morning.

“Good. Take off your coat and shirt,” Camille says, getting up. 

Magnus raises an eyebrow, but complies. “From what I recall, you used to be much smoother at this.” 

“Cute,” Camille says, pulling out a bottle of scented oil. “We're starting with a back massage for you, you're carrying way too much tension.”

“How generous,” he says, lying on the couch. It's not what he expected, but Camille's always known how to take care of him. He trusts her, with this at least. 

“If you're really lucky, I'll let you do me after,” she says, and the scent of oranges permeates the air as she rubs her hands together before starting at his shoulders. And Magnus lets himself be coaxed into a peaceful state, stops thinking about anything that isn't Camille or how good he feels.


End file.
